


Jimmy McGill: Like one of my French girls?

by skysonfire



Series: Saul Goodman / Jimmy McGill [1]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Fiery Fics and Bits, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Smut, porn with a plot, www.fiery-fics-and-bits.tumblr.com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	Jimmy McGill: Like one of my French girls?

It was the earlier part of evening when I arrived, and I swept past him when he opened the door to the cramped utility room that he judged both his office and apartment. I considered him fleetingly, and patted him on the chest as I kicked off my shoes and began to shed my clothes. He was already casual in a t-shirt and loose sweatpants – a short drink melting in his hand.

Relieving my bra and running my panties down to my ankles, I climbed onto the pullout bed and turned on my side to face him.

“I guess talking isn’t part of the plan,” he stated, his face dressed with a cautious smirk.

I didn’t answer; instead, I twirled the three carat choke chain off my finger and placed it angrily on the side table. It resonated against the pressed wood and I listened to it hum as it shook to a quiet stasis.

I pulled my hair aside and leaned my head back on one of the flat pillows, a mattress spring aggravating me in the back.

“So,” he started, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to draw you like one of my French girls, or is this a casual consultation?”

I met his shaded eyes as he took a sip of his drink. I could tell the bourbon wasn’t the only thing on which he was imbibing.

“No,” I answered abruptly, snaking toward him and wedging myself under his arm. “I want you to fuck me like you’re angry that I’m Howard’s wife.”

I could hear him release a frustrated sigh through his nose. We never really talked about it — Howard and I, but I knew that he hated it, and I hated it, too. 

I ran my hand under his shirt and pulled him close. I could feel his desire growing as he pushed against me, and I breathed in the scent of him; the age-long day – the musky honesty that held so closely against his neck. It smelled like infidelity and regret and longing. It smelled like a time long past.

He shifted his weight to settle between my thighs and he touched at me with fingertips like feathers.

“Jesus, Jimmy,” I breathed, savoring the slow circling motion of his skin against my exposed sensitivity. He leaned back to watch me and I began to move my hips in time with his sensual petting. My eyes fluttered closed and I could feel the desire in me growing — spreading like the roots of a parched flower desperate for the falling rain.

When he finally pushed himself inside, I whimpered and opened my eyes, taking his face in my hands.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He questioned, lowly, with a voice like distant thunder. Before I could respond, he withdrew and pressed himself inside even more deeply, lingering there so that I could feel the gravity of my request. I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut as he began moving with a rhythmic assurance, forcing the breath from my lungs with the fierceness of his thrusts.

My eyes still closed, his damped cheek startled me when it touched my face. His body still working against mine, he brushed my hair from across my forehead and swept his lips against my ear. “Don’t let me forget,” he paused, lifting my thigh to increase the friction between us. “I have a gift for you. After.”


End file.
